riddle (sort of)

What does 2 hours at the Y, with the kids in Childwatch, with no energy to work out, remembering to bring your books with you and a newly renovated sitting area on the 6th floor get you? ... just for fun, pointless, poetry! :)

the poet/songwriter in me has been denied for too long

in an effort to change this, I have posted another original poem. This one, I feel, is better than the last, but hopefully not the end of what I hope will be a longer, more frequent line of writing.

I am noticing, now for my entire life, that somewhere, almost without fail, around the ten o'clock hour, words, rhythms, and often music just enters my head and doesn't stop unless I ignore it, or organize it into a poem or a song.

I have chosen the route of ignoring it so often because of a lack of confidence or disbelief that what was happening was real somehow, but now (maybe that I'm almost 30 and it just took me that long) I am willing to finally embrace this vein of creativity as a part of who I've always been and, in fact, something that has happened to me since childhood. (maybe I'll be brave enough someday to post some of those early poems). :)

It will also be interesting to see how the subjects change as I approach the deployment phase and enter it. (oh the drama) but also, the outlet of relief.

If you choose to be subject to it and gently offer encouragement, suggestions, and ideas ... bless you, and enjoy.

poetry, finally

Ok, I finally posted a new poem. I was on the way to a baby shower yesterday and while I drove through our newly come icy-land formerly known as RI, fun phrases and lines kept coming into my head. So I cautiously wrote them down and tried a little rhyming, a little alliteration, whatever I seemed to feel and called it a poem. It's not a masterpiece, but some just-for-fun phrases that I hope will get me started and working at developing things. As always, ideas and thoughts are always welcome. :) Thanks for reading.

poetry blog finally

I finally made the poetry blog, but it's a rough start for now. Posie de Poesie At least I have a place to start posting (yikes!) :) Check it out and post some poetry of your own!

poetry blog name

Please help me pick a new name for the poetry blog I want to start. I listed a few options in the poll on the right, but if anyone has any other suggestions, please leave a comment. I want it to be a collection of work I love that has already been written, work of my own, and poetry by other people if they are willing to have it posted. I don't necessarily have to love it all, which is why I liked the Potluck Poetry idea for a name, but it didn't sound artistic, classy or symbolic enough for what I usually prefer, but it IS down to earth and simple and an honest representation of what the blog will hopefully be so that's all good. Any ideas? :) Thanks

Another favorite

I'm still working on a name for my poetry/writing blog so if anyone has any ideas, feel free to make a suggestion. I warn you, the one I have in mind now is a little cheesy so anything goes, really. :) While I ponder, here is another one of my all time favorite poems. It's by John Donne, the early 17th century English poet.

HOLY SONNETS.

XIV.

Batter my heart, three-person'd God ; for you
As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend ;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy ;
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

John Donne

Kipling article

article I like about Kipling ... "Have you ever kippled?"

His blog is under Rants and Raves on the right if you're interested.

I had a wonderful, relaxing outing the other day when my regularly scheduled babysitter, Zoe, came over. I ran an errand, then went to Barnes 'n' Noble to have a drink and a snack and write some poetry. Then I just browsed for a good non-fiction book (which I didn't find) and a good poetry book, which I did find! It was a big poetry anthology! Yay! So now, I promise I'll move on to another poet. :)

Kipling

I mentioned Kipling in an earlier post and wanted to share a few of my favorites of his. I found these at this site. Another that I like that was too long to post is "The Female of the Species". Enjoy!

When Earth's Last Picture Is Painted
1892
L'Envoi To "The Seven Seas"

When Earth's last picture is painted and the tubes are twisted and dried,
When the oldest colours have faded, and the youngest critic has died,
We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it -- lie down for an aeon or two,
Till the Master of All Good Workmen shall put us to work anew.
And those that were good shall be happy; they shall sit in a golden chair;
They shall splash at a ten-league canvas with brushes of comets' hair.
They shall find real saints to draw from -- Magdalene, Peter, and Paul;
They shall work for an age at a sitting and never be tired at all!

And only The Master shall praise us, and only The Master shall blame;
And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame,
But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,
Shall draw the Thing as he sees It for the God of Things as They are!
-------------------------------------------

The Gods of the Copybook Headings
1919

As I pass through my incarnations in every age and race,
I Make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market-Place.
Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.

We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn
That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.

We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market-Place.
But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.

With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch
They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch
They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings.
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.

When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.
They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Heading said: "Stick to the Devil you know."

On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "The Wages of Sin is Death."

In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,
By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "If you don't work you die."

Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew,
And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true
That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four --
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.

* * * * *

As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man --
There are only four things certain since Social Progress began --
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mice,
And the burnt Fool's bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire --
And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins
As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!
--------------------------------------------------


IF

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!

--Rudyard Kipling